


Just Friends

by Dae



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Dry Humping, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, Jealousy, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Natasha Romanov & Sam Wilson Friendship, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, POV Sam Wilson, Pining, Riding, Romance, Sam Wilson might be an idiot, Sexual Tension, Slice of Life, Smut, Top Sam Wilson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:02:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26637028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dae/pseuds/Dae
Summary: Bucky Barnes was a lot of things.He was smart, even if he asked dumbass questions any college junior should know. He had a weird sense of humor that bordered on corny more often than not. He was tall and stupidly attractive with his good hair, incredibly tight muscles and strong jawline. But that didn’t really matter, because to Sam, Bucky Barnes was one thing, and one thing only.A friend.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 98





	Just Friends

**Author's Note:**

> I just really want there to be more AUs with this pairing. I was also a bit nervous writing this, because it's my first time with these two. But, I love them. I couldn't help it. I hope you all enjoy~

Bucky Barnes was a lot of things.

He was smart, even if he asked dumbass questions any college junior should know. He had a weird sense of humor that bordered on corny more often than not. He was tall and stupidly attractive with his good hair, incredibly tight muscles and strong jawline. But that didn’t really matter, because to Sam, Bucky Barnes was one thing, and one thing only.

A friend.

They’d met freshman year. And no, they hadn’t gotten off on the best foot, and maybe if Steve wasn’t there to play the middle man for that first semester, they wouldn’t have made it a out of the “I hate you” phase. But Steve  had  been there, because he’d known Bucky since they were in grade school and he’d known Sam from the pre-college program. He rolled his eyes when his two friends would snap at each other or give them very firm looks if one of them called the other a very bad word. Over time, Sam and Bucky became more than just the guys who hung out through an obligation to their mutual friend.

And a little over two years later, Bucky would call Sam to hang out and watch movies, or play video games and Steve wouldn’t be there anymore because his junior art thesis was a bitch that lasted all semester long and he didn’t have time for casual hangouts as much as he used to. Besides, Sam liked hanging out with Bucky, because what used to be insults were turning into inside jokes.

They were friends. Nothing less and nothing more, so Sam didn’t see why it was so hard to believe that they could platonically share a bed together. Or why Natasha was giving him this look like he’d gone out and lost his damn mind.

“Oh, please,” Natasha said, sipping her coffee and maintaining the same disbelieving look she’d had since they’d first sat down in Starbucks and Sam had stupidly let loose that Bucky hogged the covers more than he thought he would. Because then she’d stared at him, and waited, and he’d had to roll his eyes and explain the whole situation.

Which had been a completely platonic situation, mind you.

“It was late! And he lives on the other side of the campus. Seriously, it wasn’t a big deal,” Sam said with a shrug and a sip of his own coffee. There was no way he was trucking across campus to his dorm that night. It was raining too, and there was no reason for his good shirt to get wet because he was afraid to sleep in the same bed with his unusually attractive friend. Who happened to have a metal arm that he had no choice but to let hang over Sam’s stomach while they slept because a twin bed was not really made for two fully grown men.

Natasha rolled her eyes, “You’re an idiot.” There was no heat behind the words, and while Sam didn’t take any real offense to the insult, he did suck his teeth and shake his head at her. Because, frankly, it was uncalled for.

“You act like you and Maria haven’t shared the same bed before,” Sam grumbled, taking a longer sip of his drink. A chai mocha latte he was proud to pronounce as the world’s most fulfilling Starbucks creation.

“Yeah, and I got to second base the first time it happened. What’s your point?” She countered and Sam choked when the words registered just as he was starting to swallow.

He cleared his throat and wiped his chin where some of the coffee dribbled from his lips. “I’m not gonna ask,” he said after a moment to collect himself. “And it really was nothing. We’re just friends.” He felt like he’d said that at least a hundred times by now. Why the hell was everyone so convinced that something else was happening between him and Bucky? He didn’t get it.

“You don’t get it,” Natasha confirmed, like she could see right through him. It was sort of scary.

“Whatever, girl, I’m leaving you behind to think whatever you wanna think,” he stood with his half-finished drink and gave her a salute. “And please keep your lesbian stories to yourself,” he joked.

Natasha scoffed and flicked him off. He puckered his lips in a show of blowing her a kiss, then walked out of the café. He had a test to study for. He refused to let Natasha’s words bother him.

* * *

Sam’s philosophy class was always hard to sit through, hence his frequent Starbucks visits with Natasha. He’d slept through thirty minutes of the three hour lecture somewhere between Plato’s theory and Socrates drinking the poison.

When he walked out, he was craning and rubbing his neck, because desks were not meant for sleeping. But soon enough he was smiling, because Bucky’s engineering class must have let out early and the man was standing outside of Sam’s classroom leaning against the opposite wall with his arms crossed and a crooked smile.

And even if it sort of looked like his boyfriend was meeting him after class to walk him back to his dorm and maybe do a little necking, that wasn’t at all the case because Bucky wasn’t his boyfriend and the meeting was mostly out of convenience. Bucky’s class was just down the hall.

“Hey, Bucky, you wouldn’t happen to have any Advil, would you?” Sam said as they fell into step together naturally as they made their way out of the classroom building.

Bucky turned his head to look at him, eyeing up the way Sam was rubbing at his sore shoulder. “Not right now,” he said. Then smirked, “You didn’t get drunk last night and pretend you could fly like a bird again, did you?”

Sam glared, “Man, shut the hell up. I was with you last night, asshole. I just slept on it funny.” That came out slightly weird, but Sam refused to think about it.

Bucky didn’t seem to care, and just shrugged, “Could give you a good rub down.”

Sam scoffed, “The hell kind of pickup line is that?”

“The type that gets me a date,” Bucky answered, smug.

“Yeah right,” Sam grumbled, then winced, because his shoulder was seriously fucked.

“Seriously, you can come back to my dorm. I went through two years of physical therapy, I might actually be useful here, Wilson,” Bucky said, shrugging his metal shoulder as if that was to prove a point. Even if it was covered by a long sleeved shirt and mostly hidden, Sam understood the implication.

He rolled his eyes, “You just want an excuse to put your hands on me. I’m not buying it.”

Bucky held his hands up in a mock surrender, “Oh, Sam, you caught me just before I was able to exact my plan of sexing you up with a neck rub and hot oils.” His voice was light and teasing. Sam shoved him for it, but found himself smiling despite himself.

“I hate you,” he said through a laugh and shook his head. “Fine. Whatever. Let’s do the massage and the oils and all that because this shit is fucking killing me.”

* * *

The massage wasn’t at all sexual.

Sure, Bucky had strong hands and even stronger arms and the thought of him kneading out the pressure and kinks in his shoulder was a turn on he would never admit to Natasha.

But the massage itself wasn’t anything fancy. Sam sat on the floor with his back to Bucky’s bed, while Bucky sat with his long, thick legs on either side of Sam’s arms. Sam had his shirt off and Bucky was, indeed, prepared with oil that smelled like mint and lavender. He rubbed it deep into Sam’s shoulder and massaged the tissue while they watched crime shows on Bucky’s 20 inch. He didn’t have a roommate, so Sam wasn’t worried about anyone coming in and thinking something was weird about what was happening, because it was not at all weird.

Or sexual.

Even if Bucky had dug deeper than Sam was expecting once, and Sam had let out an embarrassingly loud groan. And even if Bucky had immediately stopped like someone was aiming a gun at him, frozen for at least three seconds before he continued, softer this time. AND even if Sam was feeling flustered and breathing hard after the whole ordeal—maybe thinking too much about the way Bucky’s legs clinched around him—there was nothing at all sexual about what they were doing. Just one friend giving the other friend a massage because his neck felt like shit. Nothing more.

When it was done, Sam quickly put his shirt on (because friends didn’t often sit around with each other without their shirts on... right?), got off the floor and sat on the bed while Bucky stood to put the oil away and wash his hands.

When Bucky came back, his face was wet like he’d splashed it and his skin was looking a little red. It was weird, but not enough for Sam to comment on it. Maybe he was hot? Sam didn’t know.

Bucky walked over and sat down next to him, and then they were both just staring at the TV and the rolling credits of the latest episode.

“Wanna sleep over?” Bucky asked after a minute or two of silence that wasn’t exactly comfortable, but wasn’t exactly uncomfortable either.

Sam looked at him, but Bucky was still looking at the screen, chewing on his bottom lip absently. Sam was drawn to the movement, but he wouldn’t stare because that just didn’t seem like something a friend should do. He cleared his throat and answered, “Sure, why not?”

Bucky finally turned to look at him and his mouth spread into a wide grin. “Yeah, why not,” he said, and it was weirdly intimate, but Sam wouldn’t question that either. Bucky was just weird sometimes, it didn’t always warrant an explanation.

Sam kicked off his shoes and stood to take off his pants, because that thirty minute nap in class did nothing for him. He was fucking tired, and way more relaxed now after his massage.

Bucky got up next, like Sam’s movement had kicked him into action. It was a little unsettling the way Bucky kept his back turned to Sam while he took off his own pants and long-sleeved shirt, leaving behind a tank top and boxers Sam had seen a thousand times at this point. Whatever, maybe he just wanted to give himself a little privacy.

But, that didn’t really seem right either, because a second later they were slipping into the same twin bed they’d slept together in the night before. Still too small for them, and leaving them a bit closer than two friends should be. Modesty didn’t really seem too important.

Sam was facing the wall as he got comfortable on his side of the bed while Bucky switched off the TV with his remote and turned to face Sam. He only knew because as soon as the room went dark, the bed shifted and then he could feel Bucky’s breath ghosting across the back of his neck. He didn’t think about it, though, and simply closed his eyes to get his much needed sleep.

Then he felt Bucky’s metal arm wrap around his stomach, his hand pressing against Sam’s chest and pulling him close while he tried to get comfortable. “This alright?” Bucky whispered, just like he had the night before. Sam’s dick did not move at the sound of Bucky’s gravelly and deep voice low in his ear. It really didn’t. And if it did, it was probably just a fluke that shouldn’t need focusing on.

Sam swallowed thickly and nodded. They were so damn close, he knew Bucky could feel the movement. And as confirmation, Bucky hummed and snuggled closer.

Okay, maybe it was a little weird, but it still didn’t mean their relationship was any different than other guys who decided to stay over with their friend in their dorm rooms. Sam wasn’t going to sleep on the floor just because he was afraid of a little touching, and he’d feel too bad if Bucky offered to do it. This was the best solution for both of them.

* * *

Sam would like to think he wasn’t an idiot. Natasha liked to call him an idiot, but that’s because she was an asshole. They’d known each other since middle school, had grown up together in the same neighborhood, had shared lunch damn near every day and were around for each other’s best and worst moments. So, he knew when Natasha called him an idiot, it wasn’t that she was diminishing his intelligence. Because, hell, Sam was a smart guy and they both knew it. His grades proved that he was at least in the top ten percent amongst his peers.

When she called him an idiot, what she really meant was that he was being an idiot. That the choices he made were idiotic. That he was making himself into an idiot by doing things that idiots do.

And maybe she was a little bit right. Because, he had a perfectly comfortable dorm room and a perfectly normal roommate and it was all coming out of his scholarships and grants one way or another, but for some reason he’d decided to spend all of his nights as the little spoon, sleeping with Bucky cuddled against his back.

It had been three weeks since the rainy night that he’d first decided to spend with Bucky, and Steve was over. This is when Sam realized he might actually be an idiot, because he was irritated. It was completely irrational, because he hadn’t seen Steve, besides in passing or while grabbing lunch, in nearly a month. The guy stayed holed up in his studio painting what was sure to be the greatest thing since da Vinci and for the first time in almost thirty days, Steve was granting himself a night off.

Sam should be ecstatic. He loved Steve. Steve was second to Natasha. Bucky should be third. But, when he’d knocked on Bucky’s door and Steve had answered with his big smile, perfect teeth and strong arms waiting for a hug, Sam felt notably disappointed. What the hell was up with that?

“Come here, man,” Steve said as he pulled Sam into a bone crushing hug. Sam chuckled and patted Steve on the back while his eyes dragged over to where Bucky was watching. He was on his bed, back against the wall, one leg bent with the other stretched out. He had a beer in his hands and was twirling it while he watched. He smiled at Sam, but there was something tight about it. Like, maybe he was a little disappointed too?

He didn’t really have time to think about it, because Steve pulled away with his hands on Sam’s shoulders, looking him over like he was seeing Sam for the first time in years. “Finally free, huh?” Sam said and Steve’s face fell into a full pout.

“No,” he grumbled, pulling away and walking over to Bucky’s desk chair. He sat in it with the back pressed to his chest, crossed his arms over it and rested his chin on his forearms like a sad puppy. “I have to redo some things. I needed to step away though, before I completely ruined it.”

Sam shook his head, smiling fondly, because he really had missed Steve’s presence. He sighed as he walked over and plopped down beside Bucky on the bed. “Should’ve been a history major,” Sam said with a hum that made him sound like he was actually enjoying his studies.

Steve snorted, “Yeah? And how’s that midterm paper coming?”

Sam laughed, “Touché, man.” He leaned toward Bucky, maybe closer than what would be considered normal for friends, and swiped his beer. Bucky didn’t fight it, even if he gasped as Sam took a long pull from it. But then, Bucky just sat there and watched him swallow and there was something there, but Sam couldn’t put his finger on it. So, he went with it, wiping the residual beer from his lips and handing the mostly-empty bottle back with a wink. Bucky didn’t say anything as he accepted the bottle, but cleared his throat and shifted in a way that had Sam wondering if he needed to use the bathroom.

Steve just sat there, watching, and Sam hadn’t noticed until he tore his eyes off of Bucky to see Steve staring with narrowed, curious eyes.

Sam closed his eyes briefly and sighed, “What, Steve?”

Steve jumped and held his hands up, “Nothing, nothing.” That didn’t sound like nothing, but whatever. Sam didn’t know if he even wanted to know what was going on in Steve’s head.

Bucky cleared his throat, “You guys wanna play something?”

It was a great distraction from whatever the hell was happening. Mario Kart and beer can never do wrong, in Sam’s book.

They played until they felt their eyes drooping. When it was time to call it, Bucky didn’t ask Sam to stay over, and it bothered him, but he hoped he didn’t let it show. Because it shouldn’t bother him. Steve was making himself comfortable on the floor, and somehow that made it feel more awkward if Sam had insisted on staying over. So, he left with another crushing hug from Steve—albeit, an odd one, since Steve refused to get up from the floor, but had dragged Sam down to crouch while he wrapped him in his heavy weight arms—and a handshake from Bucky that was entirely too ridiculous not to feel uncomfortable while they did it. But, they didn’t mention it. And neither did Steve, who rose an eyebrow at it like they were suddenly speaking a different language.

Sam left and did the ten minute trek from Bucky’s dorm to his. He had to cut across campus and the courtyard, pass the classroom building and down the hill to his dormitory. It was a hassle at one in the morning, but he did it.

When he got back, his roommate, Scott, was playing on some game on his phone with his friend, Luis. He didn’t really mind the noise. He fell asleep the minute his head hit his pillow. And if he wished, very quietly, that a metal arm and a warm body was wrapped around him, that was between him and his dreams.

* * *

Steve was back to his art classes and thesis after that night. He texted like usual, and ate lunch from time to time, but he hadn’t shown up at either Sam or Bucky’s dorm, so that was... not nice, but it was... it was a thing.

Scott was out with Luis, and he wouldn’t be back until the morning because apparently a new video game had just come out and they were planning to sit outside the game store waiting for the doors to open at 9 a.m. It was weird, but Sam wasn’t going to judge him for it. His absence also meant that Bucky was free to come over.

It wasn’t that Bucky wasn’t allowed before, but at the beginning of the semester, when Sam had been assigned his new roommate and Steve and Bucky dropped by to meet him, Bucky hadn’t been the biggest fan of how many words Scott could fit in a sentence. So, he usually invited Sam over and left it at that.

It was one of the few days neither of them had classes so they decided to get comfortable in Sam’s dorm and binge the sixth season of SVU. They were both in their boxers and t-shirts, laying in bed with Sam’s laptop in Bucky’s lap, because Sam had never invested in a TV for his room. They shared a pillow with their heads tilted together while they watched and snacked on a bag of chips. And it wasn’t weird. At all.

Okay, it was a little weird, but maybe this was just the dynamic of their friendship, and Sam thought that was okay. It didn’t have to be more.

They stayed like that from 3 p.m. to midnight, with minor bathroom breaks and pizza in between. When Sam started to yawn and he felt Bucky’s head lulling to the side, fighting back sleep, he figured it was time to call it.

Sam closed his laptop and put it down on the floor beside his bed. He turned to Bucky, whose eyes were barely open, and said, “You wanna... sleep over?”

Bucky grunted and closed his eyes fully, then wrapped his arms around Sam’s waist and pulled him close, “Already there, pal.”

Sam snorted out a laugh and shook his head, “I ought to kick you out for being so presumptuous.”

Bucky snuggled closer and Sam could feel the way his lips moved against his neck when he said, “I’d like to see you make me, sweetheart.”

Sam rolled his eyes and shifted away to turn off the lamp by his bed, then settled against Bucky’s chest. “Goodnight, Barnes.”

“Mmh, goodnight, Wilson.”

Sam closed his eyes, smiling while he let himself drift off into sleep.

And for a while, all he did was sleep. He dreamed of warm places and really strange people he was sure he didn’t know all doing strange things, but it wasn’t scary. It was just nice.

Until around three in the morning. He’d somehow clawed his way out of his dream about stopping his sister—who really didn’t look like his sister at all in the dream—from marrying a dragon and woke up to a very lightheaded sort of arousal that shot all of his blood into a very thick and persistent organ in his boxers. He’d woken up hard before. He usually jerked it and went back to sleep, but this time was distinctly different.

For one, he was really fucking hard. Like, rock solid hard. It was kind of uncomfortable.

Two, he wasn’t the only one. And the thin layers of boxers did nothing to hide the pulsing erection Bucky was pressing right into the cleft of his ass.

And three, Bucky was  moving.

Maybe that was the worst part.

It didn’t seem like Bucky was awake, because he was muttering nonsense and his movements were completely uncoordinated. But he was grabbing Sam tight, which is probably what woke Sam up in the first place, and rolling his hips up Sam’s ass like his life depended on it.

And it was insanely hot.

Sam’s mind blanked for a solid minute while he closed his eyes and allowed himself a weak moment to just feel it. Bucky’s cock was big, Sam could tell by the way it curved against him. And there was so much heat radiating off of him, it left Sam panting like he was out in the hot sun. And Bucky’s arms weren’t just holding Sam, they were rubbing over his chest. His flesh hand had found its way up Sam’s shirt and it was absently clawing at Sam’s abs.

God, it felt amazing. More so than wanting Bucky to wake up, Sam really just wanted to rid them of the pesky fabric between them.

He wondered what type of person that made him. Or maybe if it was even worth dwelling on.

Sam bit his lip and let out a moan that he couldn’t hold back, because Bucky’s head tipped forward and now he was muttering sleepily right against Sam’s neck, mouthing and panting against Sam’s skin and making everything just so much worse.

He couldn’t let it continue. At this rate, Bucky was going to come in his sleep, and then Sam would have to deal with that and an uncomfortable erection of his own. Maybe that was the better option, but Sam wasn’t thinking straight. He’d like to say he wasn’t thinking with his dick either, but who really knows?

Without taking the proper amount of time to debate his options, Sam reached for Bucky’s flesh arm, the same arm that was still under his shirt, and pinched it hard.

“Ah,” Bucky hissed, sounding only 20% more awake than when he was mindlessly rutting. His hips stopped jerking and his mouth lifted off Sam’s neck. It was enough for Sam to tentatively turn over on his back, though uncomfortably, to get a look at him.

He sort of figured Bucky would just fall back asleep. It was only a curtesy pinch so neither of them would be too embarrassed in the morning. And Sam wasn’t going to be ashamed of going to his shared bathroom to jerk off.

What he didn’t expect was for Bucky’s eyes to be blown wide open, staring at Sam and somehow paling and turning red at the same time. His hand was still up Sam’s shirt, even as he’d turned over, and that wasn’t helping.

“Oh, my God,” Bucky said, still wide-eyed.

“Uh,” Sam didn’t know what to say. And sure, he could’ve been a bit more articulate, but that was the only thing he could manage. The sheer horror spreading across Bucky’s expression was enough for anyone to be at a loss for words.

“Jesus Christ, Sam,” Bucky sat up, removed his hand from Sam’s shirt and immediately crawled over to get off of the bed. “Sam, Jesus. God. I’m so sorry! Fuck,” Bucky turned away and ran his hands through his hair.

Sam wasn’t sure at all how to react. What would be an appropriate reaction for Bucky freaking out over grinding in his sleep? That was normal, right? They were both young men with active sex drives and so what if he popped a woody in his sleep and started using Sam as a tool for getting off? It was a little awkward. Possibly a tad demeaning. Slightly atypical for people who were just friends.

But it wasn’t the end of the world. Or unnatural. Sam figured he should go with calm and reassuring, while inconspicuously hiding his bulge with the covers.

“Man, sit down. It’s not a big deal,” Sam said, lighthearted and completely at ease, despite the ache between his legs. Bucky was still sporting a pretty impressive bulge too, and that was a little distracting.

Bucky turned to him, eyes still wide like they might just pop out. “It is a big deal, Sam. I didn’t want that. Not... I didn’t want...”

“What’s wrong, Buck? You never got morning wood in front of Steve?” Sam asked, and though it was technically morning, but not really, and what Bucky was doing was technically not just springing a happy salute with his genitals, he stood by his question with a cocked head and a raised brow.

Buck rubbed over his face and groaned, “Sure, but that was...” He pointed at Sam, or maybe more so at the bed. “I was... And you? Sam, I can’t believe I did that.”

“Look,” Sam amended with a calming hand out, because Bucky was about to start doing his freaking out and pacing thing again. “It’s not an issue. Really.”  _I kind of liked it. Like, a lot._ But he wouldn’t say that.

Bucky dropped his hand and turned to give Sam a look. He was still flushed but his erection was fully gone now. After a long moment of staring, Bucky whispered, “But it’s you, Sam.”

“Oh,” Sam nodded. And suddenly his erection wasn’t such a problem anymore. Slowly diminishing after Bucky revealed the real reason for his freak out. It wasn’t because Sam was a guy, he knew Bucky swung both ways. It wasn’t because he thought it was weird. Or, maybe he did think it was weird. But, the main reason was because Bucky didn’t want him. And that...

Well, that just sucked. Sam had to admit it. It hit him like a punch in the chest, and felt worse than it probably should have.

“Alright, well. We don’t have to talk about it,” Sam said, voice still even, if not a bit dull now.

“Maybe I should...” Bucky said through a breath, then pointed at the door with his metal thumb. “I should go, yeah?” He sounded unsure, and Sam had no idea how to handle that, or why Bucky was asking if he was so desperate to leave, anyway.

Sam shrugged and nodded, “Yeah, maybe.”

Bucky’s shoulders sagged. 

Great, now Bucky was feeling guilty. Hopefully he didn’t see Sam’s feelings, because Sam felt like they were oozing out of him. The realization that what he wanted from Bucky wasn’t friendship at all maybe wasn’t the greatest revelation of all time, but it was still a lot to handle when it was directly paired with rejection.

“Okay,” Bucky said in a small voice. He gathered his clothes and slipped them on wordlessly, then left the dorm without so much as a goodbye.

Sam collapsed onto his bed and stared up at his dark ceiling once he was alone.

He whispered to it, “Fuck my life.”

* * *

When Scott got back to the dorm with Luis around 10 a.m., Sam was still lying awake in his bed. The two of them were going on and on about the game while in the process of grabbing whatever they would need to hole up in Luis’ dorm for the day, because he actually had a pretty sizable TV in there. It was Tuesday. They either didn’t have classes or were actively skipping.

Sam pushed himself up and figured their appearance was a good enough reason for him to start his day. Or, it reminded him that the world still existed outside of his room where he’d had to listen to Bucky ramble about how ashamed he was because he’d had a hard on in Sam’s presence and that was just unheard of. Either way, Sam got up with a lazy wave to Scott and Luis and started on his morning routine.

He went for a run around campus and tried not to think of Bucky.

He went back and showered and tried even harder not to think about Bucky.

He brushed his teeth and unwittingly thought about Bucky, got pissed about it, then decided he would never think about Bucky again.

After he was cleaned and dressed, he texted Natasha to meet him at their usual Starbucks. It was around noon and he had evening classes. If he had any chance of making it through the day, he would need to be highly caffeinated. Having an ear to listen to his woes was an added bonus.

A much needed added bonus.

Natasha was already there when he’d shown up. He must look like shit, because the second he sat in front of her with his chai mocha latte Natasha sat up straight, leaned across the table on her elbows, glared and said, “Who the hell do I need to castrate?”

Sam choked and laughed, not even almost expecting that to be the first thing she’d say. He shook his head, “No castrating required.”

Natasha huffed out her nose and sat back in her chair again. She was drinking a black iced coffee and that was just plain nasty, but Sam had gotten tired of making fun of her for it. Plus, Natasha was the worst when it came to being ripped, because she served it back ten times worse.

After a prolonged silence settled, and Natasha wouldn’t let up with her calculated staring, Sam sighed and said, “I’m an idiot.”

“What did you do?” She sipped at her coffee, placed it back on the table, then folded her arms as she waited for his response.

Sam moved his cup aside so he could bend forward and rest his forehead on the cool table. “I didn’t really do anything, I guess.” He shrugged. “Besides kid myself, maybe.”

Natasha didn’t say anything right away, but Sam felt her hand on the back of his head, rubbing soothing circles. He felt like they were twelve again, back when Sam had been agonizing about hormones and his first crush. A minute of treatment to his scalp passed before she asked, “You wanna talk about it?”

Sam snorted against the table, “No...” he thought about it more. “Yes?” He lifted his head and Natasha pulled her hand back, using it to take another sip of her drink. “I don’t know,” Sam sighed. “It’s Bucky. I thought it was fine—.”

“Pretending to be just friends?” Natasha said, almost like it’d just slipped out. Sam glared at her. She raised a hand in defeat, “Sorry.”

Sam shook his head and leaned back in his chair. He let his coffee comfort him for a moment, before he continued, “I thought I was fine with being friends. But, I’m not.”

“Okay,” she said. Sam tilted his head.

“Okay?”

Natasha shrugged, “What’s the problem?”

Sam looked away, staring at the wall of old photographs the Starbucks owner must’ve pasted on the walls to make the café look more artsy. It was kind of dumb, but it was a good distraction for Sam to get his thoughts in order. They were in public, after all. He didn’t necessarily want to blurt out that his problem was  _‘Bucky was dry-humping me in his sleep. I got, like, super hard and wanted him to just fuck me through my boxers. But, then he woke up, freaked out and basically told me he was upset that he was doing it to me. Then I realized, his reaction hurt like hell and that I wanted him to want it to be me and now I’m confused because I may have just lost one of my best friends and that just fucking sucks.’ _

The lady sitting with her 4-year-old at the table beside them probably wouldn’t appreciate that sort of language.

Sam sighed and rubbed at his forehead, “He doesn’t like me like that.”

Now, in the decade he’d known Natasha he’d only seen her lose her composure three times. Two of those times were with anger, and had been directed a one, a kid who had the dumbass idea to put a hand up her skirt in the tenth grade; and two, a couple assholes who didn’t like Sam’s newfound sexual orientation and had cornered Sam in the back of the school in the eleventh grade. And, while on the second instance Sam was fully capable and strong enough to take care of himself, he’d never get in the way of watching Natasha kick some ass. Even if they’d gotten suspended for a week as a result. The third time was way back when they’d only been friends for about a year and Sam had tried out a very reckless stunt in the gym that resulted in an awkward detangling of a jump rope and a sprained ankle. Natasha had laughed her ass off.

And she was doing it again, this time pointing at Sam’s face like his expression was the literal punchline to a joke.

Exasperated, partially from his lack of sleep and partially from Natasha’s unusual cackling, Sam asked, “What the hell is so damn funny?”

Natasha said through her laughter, “You.”

Sam rolled his eyes and sat back with his hands spread, “This is what I get for opening myself up, people.” And he thought he’d heard the 4-year-old laughing along with Natasha. Perfect. Not to mention the people who were starting to stare.

Natasha laughed harder and slapped against the table, holding her stomach like it was just too much. She said, “Oh, my God, Sam. What is wrong with you?”

“Me?” He gestured to her. “Do you see yourself?”

Natasha shook her head and wiped her eyes. “No, you must really be an idiot.” She started to fully calm down. She took in a gulp of her coffee and that seemed to fully subdue her chuckling. Sam could still see the humor in her eyes though. “He doesn’t feel that way? Are you blind?”

“What are you talking about?” He really needed to know. This was giving him a headache.

“Sam,” she leveled him with a serious look. “That man worships the ground you walk on. Anyone who’s ever been in a room with you two knows it.”

Sam shook his head, “No. He told me.”

“He told you what?” Natasha’s eyebrows furrowed. As if Sam’s words truly caught her off guard.

“He told me he...” he stopped himself. He hadn’t really told her much about what happened. Or anything, really. It would be hard to explain otherwise. He shook his head, “It doesn’t matter. He basically told me he didn’t see me that way.”

“He told you that?” She asked, sounding suspicious.

Sam nodded, “Yeah, he did.”

Natasha’s eyes darted around, then settled on Sam’s face, still with that suspicious look. “That doesn’t sound right.”

Sam laughed this time, a bit self-depreciating, “Well, that’s what happened. Nothing I can do about it.” He drank more of his coffee, letting it wash over him. It helped to think about the lovely taste, and not the crumbling reality of what he was saying. He felt like such an idiot. It was probably why he didn’t allow himself to see himself with Bucky as anything but friends, because he knew, deep down, the rejection would feel so much worse than pretending the feelings didn’t exist in the first place.

“Hm,” Natasha hummed. She didn’t speak for a while after that, and Sam was feeling a little worse, if he was being honest. He gave her a weak excuse and told her he’d see her later. She just nodded and stared like there was something she couldn’t quite put together.

_Right there with you, sis._ He couldn’t help but think.

* * *

When Sam was done with class, he went straight to his dorm and collapsed onto his bed. Scott was still out, probably playing the shit out of that new game. That seemed nice. He didn’t really have anywhere to go.

He could wallow in Natasha’s apartment, maybe put on a terrible movie and throw popcorn at the screen. But he’d have to take a shuttle to get to her building, and he didn’t think he’d make it with the little bit of strength he had left.

So, he just laid there staring up at the ceiling and unwittingly let his mind take him to the previous night. Bucky’s warm body and cold metal arm, his flesh hand clawing at Sam’s stomach, his cock hard and pressing into him, forcing him to imagine all the other things it could do to him.

He hissed and turned over on his side, squeezing his eyes shut and willing the images and very visceral feelings away. The last thing he wanted was to pop a boner while thinking of the guy he realized he had a pretty substantial crush on. The same guy who so clearly didn’t feel the same way. He had enough dignity to keep himself from touching himself, even if his arousal was getting persistent. Even if no matter how hard he shut his eyes, he could still feel it.

His phone buzzed from where he’d left it on his bedside table. He turned over to his other side and grabbed it. The screen flashed and revealed two messages. One from when he was in class from Natasha.

_It’ll be okay, Sam,_ she said. Sam couldn’t help but smile a little. He loved Natasha, but she wasn’t one for comfort. When she attempted it, it was always very brief and maybe a tad forced. But, she was his best friend and he was hers. She always tried. Whether it was with a pat on the head or a short, motivational text.

He sent her a couple heart emojis, then went over to the other message. One from Steve.

_What happened with Bucky? _

That was all it said. Sam’s neck felt hot at the mention of Bucky. As if he hadn’t already been the only thing on Sam’s mind. But now he knew Bucky told Steve and he wasn’t really sure how to feel about that.

He decided not to answer, rolled back over until he was on his stomach, closed his eyes and waited for sleep to come.

* * *

A week after the incident with Bucky, Sam hadn’t seen him or Steve. Steve texted a few more times. Sometimes reiterating his initial question, other times just sending question marks and sad-face emojis. But he wasn’t around to have lunch with and Bucky didn’t call him up or meet him outside of class.

Sam felt just short of miserable.

He hung out with Natasha more often than not. And Maria, who was her not-girlfriend. And Clint, Natasha’s roommate who had a knack for tripping over damn near everything. It was nice, but he still missed Bucky and Steve like he wouldn’t even believe. And it had only been a week. He was already afraid that their friendship was pretty much over. Maybe if he reached out, he could stop that from happening, but Sam didn’t have it in him. He just kept seeing Bucky with his wide eyes and red face. He kept seeing the way Bucky looked at Sam with so much regret.

It was just past that week mark when Sam had bumped into Bucky. It was inevitable, really. Sam was finishing up with philosophy and Bucky was coming out of his engineering class. They must have been doing a workshop because Bucky had his goggles around his neck and sawdust covering his flesh and metal hands.

Sam walked out of his classroom and immediately froze. Bucky was lingering, trying to be inconspicuous, but Sam could see through him. He knew Bucky was just waiting for him. Which gave Sam a nasty bit of anxiety. He assumed Bucky was there to end their friendship for good, and he contemplated turning and walking away as if he hadn’t seen Bucky there in the first place.  
  
It was too late, though. Bucky had already locked eyes with Sam. He licked his lips nervously while he approached, rubbing the dust off his fingers and onto his jeans.

“Hey,” Bucky said once he was a foot away.

Sam readjusted the bag over his shoulder and tried to appear nonchalant. “Hey,” he said.

Bucky huffed and ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it behind his ear and looking even more nervous. “I just wanted to apologize again,” he said.

Sam couldn’t resist rolling his eyes. “I said it was fine.” _It wasn’t fine._ _ I’ve been miserable.  
_

“It’s not. But, I...” Bucky chanced a peek up at Sam, staring earnestly into his eyes now. “I don’t wanna stop being friends. I’ve missed you, is all.”

Sam swallowed, finding a thick lump lodged in his throat that hadn’t been there before. He blinked and nodded and tried to not think the words: Friend-zoned. “I’ve missed you too,” he managed to choke out.

Bucky smiled, and it lit up his whole face. Sam sort of hated him for how beautiful he looked. Teeth-showing and eyes sparkling like Sam had just given him the best gift in the world. It felt like the universe was torturing him. Punishing him. He didn’t like it.

“You wanna come over? Play some video games, or something?” Bucky asked, shuffling his feet now and looking nervous again.

Sam smiled and nodded, “Sure, man.”

They did just that. They sat on the floor in Bucky’s dorm and played Smash Bros. until it had gotten too late to keep going. Sam didn’t sleep over and Bucky didn’t ask.

* * *

Things were mostly normal after that. Steve wasn’t sending him texts anymore, but the one time he did manage to hang out with Bucky and Sam, he kept sending them these looks that Sam couldn’t even begin to understand.

Bucky was acting a little strange lately, but that was to be expected when he was doing his best to show Sam that they were just friends. They didn’t share food anymore, he didn’t sit close to Sam anymore, he didn’t ask Sam to sleep over anymore. Besides that, they’d managed to keep up their bickering and jokes, so that was comforting in a way.

Natasha didn’t ask Sam about Bucky anymore, but she would get this look whenever Sam would tell her about something they’d done together. Going to the park for a run, watching The Shining, because Bucky had never seen it, forcing Bucky to hang out with Scott and Luis who had been playing their new game—some Call of Duty release—damn near nonstop. Natasha’s eyes would start peering at Sam and it was like she was still trying to figure something out. Whatever it was, she kept her mouth shut about it.

Nearly a month passed though, and Sam was mostly over his heartbreak.

By mostly, it was less of a stabbing sensation in his chest and more like a dull ache whenever he was in Bucky’s presence. Nothing he couldn’t handle.

He was packing up for his philosophy course, texting Bucky that he was coming out to meet him in the hallway, when someone approached his desk.

He assumed it was the professor, because nobody really socialized in this class. It was a three hour lecture, everyone seemed more than happy to high-tail it out of there when it was over. But when he looked up, he was met with the vaguely familiar face of one of the foreign students.

T’Challa transferred in from Wakanda this semester. He was sort of the talk of the university for the first week, until he was lumped in with all the above-average, hot foreign kids.

Sam hadn’t really had the opportunity to get to know him. They hadn’t even introduced themselves, so Sam’s instinct was to check his face to see if there was something on it. Like, maybe T’Challa was here to point out that he had a crumb in his goatee.

“What’s up?” Sam said, still wiping absently at his face. “T’Challa right?”

T’Challa smiled, crooked and charming as he nodded at Sam. “That’s right. And you’re Sam Wilson.”

Sam blinked, cleared his throat. “Uh... yeah, man. Did you need something?”

T’Challa eyed him for a moment, mouth slightly parted like his mind was formulating what to say next.  _This is awkward_ , Sam thought. 

T’Challa shifted, shoving his hands in his pockets and leveling Sam with a determined look. “I wondered if I could have the honor... if you were free, perhaps,” he was saying. Sam was still a bit confused, but he couldn’t help but notice how nice T’Challa’s accent was, how it dripped and wrapped around each word.

“You good?” Sam said, when T’Challa didn’t continue. That seemed to frustrate the man, but he still had that determination in his eyes.

“I wondered if you would be interested in having dinner with me,” T’Challa finally said, forcing all the words out and looking like it was paining him to do so.

Sam stared at him for a moment, really stared. He let T’Challa’s words settle in. A date. T’Challa was asking him out on a date.

That was... interesting.

Sam had only been on a few dates in his life. He’d had a few boyfriends, too. None of them had asked him out, out of the blue. He didn’t know a damn thing about T’Challa, and here he was looking at Sam like he was afraid the answer would be no.

But T’Challa was a very good looking guy, and despite the unsettling feeling it gave him, Sam nodded and said, “Sure. That might be nice.”

T’Challa beamed at him. His shoulders sagged in relief as he pulled a phone from his pocket. “Could I have your number, Sam Wilson?”

Sam chuckled and nodded again, “Yeah. And you can just call me Sam.”

T’Challa smiled, “Of course, Sam.”

They exchanged numbers and by the time they were walking out of the class and saying goodbye, it had already been five minutes after his class had ended. Bucky was waiting in his usual spot with his arms crossed and leaning against the wall. He eyed T’Challa curiously as he walked out of the class next to Sam. Even as Sam approached, Bucky’s eyes never left T’Challa until he’d turned and disappeared around a corner.

“Who was that?” Bucky asked, sounding off. Sam just figured he was having a bad day or something, because when he looked, Bucky’s eyes were narrowed and his lips were drawn into a thin line.

“You alright?” Sam asked instead of answering.

Bucky looked over at Sam and shrugged. “I’m fine. Who was that?”

Sam looked down the hall where T’Challa had walked ahead of them. “Classmate.”

“Why were you two in there for so long?” Bucky asked next and it was starting to feel like an interrogation. Sam didn’t get it. When he looked at Bucky again, his expression was schooled and impassive. Even so, the lines on his face were still harder than usual.

“He was asking me out on a date,” Sam said. Bucky’s head snapped over to Sam, mouth open and eyes wide. Sam didn’t have much time to take in the look. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw that it was a message from T’Challa.

_ Saturday at 7? _

Bucky leaned over and peeked at Sam’s phone. He obviously read the message, because he snorted incredulously, leaned back and folded his arms, then glared at Sam.

Sam typed out a simple,  _Sure_ , then slipped his phone back into his pocket.  
  
They hadn’t spoken again until they’d made it out of the classroom building. Sam could feel the tense energy emitted from Bucky, and it was weird, because it was almost like he was pissed about Sam’s date. And that just didn’t add up.

Sam sighed, “The hell is your problem, Buck?”

“I don’t have a problem,” Bucky said, and the answer was ground out through his teeth.

“Yeah, you do,” Sam said knowingly.

Bucky sucked his teeth but didn’t say anything right away. They walked the stretch of the campus toward Bucky’s dorm, and that’s when he decided to speak again. “He just asked you out?”

Sam shrugged, “What can I say? I’m a good looking guy.” He wouldn’t mention that he would’ve preferred it if it was Bucky doing the asking, because there was no point in that.

“And you said yeah?” Bucky turned to look at Sam and Sam looked back. There was something there in his silver-blue eyes, something Sam was hopeless in understanding. He wished he had just an inkling of an idea of what was going on in Bucky’s head.

“I didn’t really have a reason not to,” Sam said, tearing his eyes from Bucky’s because it was getting a little too overwhelming.

“Right,” Bucky grit out. He seemed even more frustrated by Sam’s response.

Sam sighed, because he just didn’t get it.

It was so tense after that, he contemplated just calling it and heading back to his own dorm. At least Scott would be out, so he could enjoy some peace in quiet. Even though, secretly, he didn’t really mind how much Scott and Luis tended to ramble to each other.

In any case, it would save him from this unbearable atmosphere. Bucky seemed like he was ready to combust.

But, Sam didn’t turn and leave. He just followed Bucky up to his dorm, walked inside and sat on his floor, leaning his back against Bucky’s bed. Bucky closed the door and stood by it with one hand on the doorknob and the other in his hair.

Sam couldn’t take it anymore, “Buck, man, what the hell is up with you?”

Bucky finally let go of the knob and walked over. He sat down on the bed, his leg brushing against Sam’s arm. It was the first time they’d had any real contact since the awkward grinding situation, and Sam felt his pulse pick up pace for ungodly reasons.

Sam cleared his throat and got up to sit next to Bucky. He placed his hands on the mattress by his hips and looked over to see the pensive look on Bucky’s face.

“Bucky,” Sam whispered, soothing this time. “What’s up? Did something happen?” Because despite whatever Sam was feeling about the man, he would always have his back. And if some asshole tried to make Bucky feel bad about his metal prosthetic, Sam was more than ready to use his fists.

“Yeah,” Bucky whispered. He looked at Sam with pleading, desperate eyes. Sam wished he knew why they were so sad. So pained as he looked over Sam’s face.

“Well... what happened?” Sam slid his hand over to touch Bucky’s knee. He meant for it to be supportive, but then Bucky hissed at the feeling and Sam immediately retracted it. “Sorry,” he tried not to feel bad and scooted a few inches away. He wasn’t allowed to touch, apparently, so he shouldn’t.

Bucky’s head shot up, noticing Sam’s retreat. He scooted closer to Sam, even closer than they had been before. Sam didn’t get the chance to question the movement, because a second later both of Bucky’s hands were on Sam’s cheeks. And a second after that, their lips were touching.

It wasn’t the first kiss Sam had imagined from Bucky. He knew the man was experienced, enough to know this shaky, clumsy kiss wasn’t likely his best. There wasn’t any tongue. No real action besides their lips touching. And Bucky’s head was only tilted slightly to avoid bumping noses. But, despite this not being the most erotic kiss of Sam’s life, there was something about it that made it sort of perfect. Like, Bucky was pouring out all his feeling into that one kiss, and Sam finally understood what he’d had such a hard time getting a grip on in the past couple months.

When they parted, Bucky was looking right into Sam’s eyes. They were just a breath away, and Sam wanted nothing more than to just lean in and do it all over again.

“Why did you do that?” Sam blurted out, instead of following the desire to close the distance.

Bucky didn’t back down this time. “I like you a lot, sweetheart.”

Sam just stared, turning the words over in his head and the way they made his chest swell with heat. “You like me?”

“I like you,” Bucky confirmed with a short nod. “A lot,” he clarified.

Sam’s lips spread into a grin he couldn’t quite contain. “You like me a lot?” Sam teased.

Bucky huffed out a laugh and shrugged, “Yeah, I do, pal. And I don’t want you going out with what’s-his-name.”

“T’Challa,” Sam corrected.

“Whatever,” Bucky rolled his eyes. Sam laughed and shook his head. For a while they just stared at each other, a new understanding forming. Sam could see the want in Bucky’s eyes now, unmasked and damn near oozing out of Bucky and into Sam. Sam probably looked the same, because now he was allowed to look, and allowed to touch. He let all of his feelings show. But, before they could move forward with whatever this was going to be, Sam needed to know.

“Why’d you leave that night?”

Bucky seemed to immediately understand what Sam’s question was referring to. He pulled away and ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t know, I thought...” Bucky paused and huffed, looking frustrated again. “I felt like I violated you, and...” he cleared his throat. “If you didn’t feel the same way, that you would pull away from me. And I didn’t want that.”

“So, you decided to do the pulling?” Sam said, smiling a little. Bucky’s neck and cheeks flushed.

“I wasn’t trying to pull away,” Bucky grumbled.

“But you avoided me for a week,” Sam commented dryly.

“You were avoiding me too,” Bucky pointed out.

Sam bit his lip. Bucky’s eyes were drawn to the movement, but his eyes locked with Sam’s again after the brief distraction. Sam released his lip and said, “I thought you were upset because it was me. I thought you didn’t see me like that.”

Bucky smiled and shook his head, “I always see you like that. It drives me nuts.”

Sam laughed, “Well, you could’ve told me.”

“And risk you rejecting me? Or worse,” he frowned. “A pity fuck. No thank you.”

Sam shoved Bucky’s metal shoulder as he laughed, “I wouldn’t pity fuck even you.”

Bucky turned his head, leaned in close and grinned. “But you’d fuck me?”

Sam rolled his eyes, “Now you’re just being cocky.”

Bucky didn’t wait any longer. He tilted his head and tongued his way into Sam’s mouth, humming when Sam leaned into it just as eager. He bit at Sam’s bottom lip and pushed until he could maneuver Sam down and straddle his hips. He didn’t break their kiss as he settled in Sam’s lap, nipping and pulling and sucking at Sam’s lips, making sure they’d be left red and swollen.

When they broke apart, moments later, they were hot and panting, breathing each other in as Bucky nuzzled and kissed at Sam’s neck while Sam ran his hand through Bucky’s soft hair. Bucky licked at the space below Sam’s ear and growled, “You better call off that date.”

Sam laughed, breathless, and fisted Bucky’s hair. He tugged until Bucky was forced to pull away and look Sam in the eyes. “I’d like to see you make me.”

Bucky’s eyes darkened. He grinned and licked his lips. “Challenge accepted, asshole.”

They kissed again, hungry and filthy and loud and wet. Sam pulled off and tossed Bucky’s clothes as quickly as humanly possible. Bucky simply undid Sam’s jeans and grabbed the lube and a condom from his nightstand. Once he was back on Sam, he had his hands up Sam’s shirt and was back to mouthing and sucking on Sam’s neck. Bucky was so shaky, so desperate. Feeling Bucky on him now, Sam truly felt like the biggest idiot who’d ever existed. He didn’t know how he hadn’t seen it.

He worked Bucky open, marveling at the different expressions that flitted across Bucky’s face. By the time he was done, Bucky was panting and pleading and it was all a little too much. Sam slipped the condom on and Bucky did the honors of stroking him with a hand coated in lube.

And then Sam was pushed back to lay flat on the bed and Bucky was sinking down on him. Filling himself up with a hand on Sam’s chest and his back arched while he sank.

Sam’s hands were on Bucky’s hips and Bucky was moaning and bouncing so earnestly, it was impossible to hold back.

When they were spent, they laid on top of Bucky’s messed up covers, on their sides and staring at each other. Sam’s stroked a hand through Bucky’s hair. It was a little damp with sweat, but Sam didn’t mind it.

Bucky’s eyes were closed and he had his flesh arm wrapped around Sam’s waist, keeping them close while he hummed at the feeling of Sam’s fingers running over his scalp.

Sam sighed, leaned forward and kissed Bucky’s forehead. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll call off the damn date.”

Bucky snorted out a laugh.

They laid like that, until an hour later when Bucky started stroking Sam hard again. Sam rolled them over so that Bucky was under him, on his back and rolling their hips together.

Sam thought he could definitely get used to this.

* * *

Sam skipped class the next day and he refused to feel bad about it. He never skipped class, but spending the entire day burning through Bucky’s box of condoms was just way more appealing than going to his Roman and Latin history classes.

When he met Natasha the day after his little “honeymoon retreat,” it was at the same Starbucks as always.

He didn’t even have to say anything as he went over to their usual table and took the seat across from her. He was smiling while he drank his chai mocha latte. Natasha stared at him for a full minute before she grinned and said, “Glad to see you’re done being an idiot.”  


Sam shook his head, chuckling. “Shut up.”

So, maybe they weren’t just friends. Maybe they hadn’t been just friends in a long, long time. Even now, they hadn’t put a label on it yet, but they were together.

Sam figured that’s all that really mattered, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! Let me know what you think <3


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